Sunspots

Due to this planet’s position vis-a-vis the nearest star, sensitive (pink and white-furred) ears can develop spots.

Fortunately, (veterinarian) science has designed an effective response for cancerous feline ears:

“Cut ‘em off!”

So, with what trepidation did The Misters greet the appearance such spotations on the ears of The Smee!

“Yo, I’m filled with trepidamation.”

“Dude, I’m fully trepping.”

To allay their fears, those Misters once again packed up their precious cargo in their ol’ kit(ten) bag and subjected an already traumatized Smee to the chopping block for a biopsy.

Stay tuned for the results!

Bleach Bardo Babylon

Without disclosing sensitive information that might enable our dear reader(s?) to locate The Misters and -- heav’n forfend! -- The Smee, let us make plain that The Smee and his MIster-ish entourage did in fact de-camp from _______ and installed themselves temporarily in ________, a sort of Babylon from which delivery is prayed for and pizza delivery is possible.

Lost in this bleached Bardo (the house was white inside and out), The Misters and the Smee spent what they now refer to as The Interregnum with a host of new neighbor-characters:

To the immediate North of the new Smee-Central lay the house of Catering & Crack (we suspect, based on the covered trays oft-loaded into the SUV and the micro-short “visits” made by unsavory gentlemen in lifted, weathered trucks).

To the south lay a cyclone-fenced fortress oversaturated with cars and four generations of women who would crowd in the kitchen (the room closest to our side) to partake in the daily, day-long ritual we came to dub “The Talking.” 

[What’s this got to do with The Smee? This post is far too Misters-centric! --ed.]

[Then cut it off, why don’t y--